


Sunrise

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Chikara’s never allowed himself to consider the romance of sunrise.  What interests him (he says) is the cinematography of it, a matter of light and angles, and sparkles of light shimmering on the sea.  
But breathing in the sea air, watching as it whips at Keiji’s curls against his neck, he considers more than pictures.





	

There is a distance about Akaashi Keiji that intrigues Chikara. It’s the first thing he notices (although the sculpted cheekbones and near perfect face slam into his conscious as a pretty pacy second) the way the Setter across the other side of the net keeps himself just a little apart from the others.

And Chikara wonders – briefly – why that is. For how can someone not be caught up in the game, the effort and the sheer tsunami of enthusiasm that’s wrapped up in Bokuto Koutarou?

But as he stares a little closer (making sure no one can see the object of his attention) he sees a flicker of eyelids and the twitch of a smile and he starts to think more on the fragility of it all. How distance might be breached if you could only find a lever of the right length.

(He shakes his head at the mixing of metaphors, proof his mind is playing tricks. The world can be moved with a lever if you find the right place to stand and walls can be scaled or charged down, but he’s never been one for heights and the battering ram approach is not his style.)

Later, much later, when the games are over, they meet on equal terms. Sitting on the grass as they eat charred meat and nibble watermelon, Chikara sees the distance between them constrict as communalities not based on volleyball rise to the fore.

( _You take photographs?_ Akaashi asks, stammering a little as if conversation off court is something he’s unused to.  
_I do._   
_So do I._   
_Oh ... May I see?)_

A hesitation, and it’s only after the distance of many weeks has passed, that Chikara realises Keiji has shown very few people his photographs. It’s a hobby of such immense privacy that he’s kept it hidden from his teammates, as if fearing their interest will somehow diminish his pleasure.

***

Reality causes their separation. But the three hundred and sixty six kilometres between their homes are negated after school when both log on. Chikara will stare and stare and stare at the screen, waiting for the connection between them to flare into life. To see the light flicker and start before Keiji’s face – a myriad of pixels – sharpens on the screen.

(And then there’s the clutch in his chest as he waits for that first smile. He wonders if he’ll ever tire of seeing the tug at the corners of Keiji’s mouth. It’s been weeks and months but still he waits patiently for that first drop of conversation, for Keiji’s small rasp of a cough as he clears his throat, and the way his eyes focus fully on his web cam as he says one word ‘Hi’.)

They’re friends. That’s all. Talking about school, volleyball, books, the future. But it’s enough, Chikara thinks, because if he pushes for more and loses, then the distance will be unbreachable.

And he has other friends. He’s close to Hisashi; closer still to Kazuhito, but this ... this ... _this_ ... is different. This is wanting and yearning and a very real need to stretch out his hand, to reach out into the ether, crash through the barriers of the screen and touch Keiji’s face.

(He thinks about tracing the outline of his lips, and once when the screen had frozen, he’d raised his hand and done just that, and then the screen had buffered back into movement before his fingertip could complete its journey, and he’d had to make some excuse, scratching away an imaginary blotch on his screen.)

Chikara has no lever, except his words. He has no ram to crack through the distance, except the images they both expound on.

***

( _It’s cheesy, I know, but I love the sunrise.  
We should make plans to film that. Maybe together,_ Chikara murmurs, not quite sure he’s dared to say that aloud.  
_Yeah, I’d like that._ There’s smile and a slight reddening of his cheeks, but Chikara’s sure he imagined that and it’s probably just the lighting in Keiji’s bedroom. _)_

He wonders, some days, if the ice chips he breaks off Keiji’s reserve refreeze when they say goodnight. Because the thaw is temporary and the next night, they’re back to the formalities of their friendship. Words and books. Cinema and image. Jokes and ...

_that look in Keiji’s eyes, which has Chikara wondering if he’ll ever breathe again_.

***

 

Chikara’s never allowed himself to consider the romance of sunrise.  What interests him (he says) is the cinematography of it, a matter of light and angles, and sparkles of light shimmering on the sea. Grey sand not quite yellowing as the sun sheds its rays, heightening the beauty and softening the ugliness of this patch of Kamakura shore.

Breathing in the sea air, watching as it whips at Keiji’s curls against his neck, he considers more than pictures. More than snapshots of colour, until everything is a blur except for the soft swell of Keiji’s mouth.

He presses his lips on Keiji’s cheek and waits.

***

“You’re unbelievable, you know that!”

Chikara shakes his head, smiling across at Keiji. “I don’t know what you’re so riled about.”

“All that bull about how your team don’t fit together. How you’ll never be ready for Golden Week and you’ll be massacred by all the Tokyo teams. How you’re struggling to get a ... how did you put it ... oh yeah ... ‘we can’t get together the semblance of an attack’ and you -”

Chikara rolls his eyes. “What can I say? We’ve improved a lot over the past week.”

“No one’s improvement is that rapid. I thought your new first years were idiots!”

He laughs. “They are. But Karasuno have always done well with idiots.”

“You’re a git.”

Pouting out his bottom lip, Chikara tries to look mournful, but the vision of this first ever victory over Fukurodani, Tanaka finishing with a spike of such power he swears he can still feel the floor of the gym quake under his feet, cause his lips to wobble and he can’t prevent the smile lifting his face.

Raising his hand, he reaches across, clasping Keiji’s hand and pulls him closer. Distance breached. Their lips a mere hair’s breadth apart. “Would you rather we’d stayed in Miyagi?”

“You’re still a git,” Keiji mumbles, but he rests his arms on Chikara’s shoulders, letting his fingers fist into his hair. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I never really know what to put here, except if you enjoyed this I'd love to know.


End file.
